


The Colors Dance

by the1maplejoe



Category: PewDiePie (YouTube RPF), Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Septiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Adorable, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Artist Elements, Fluff, M/M, Painter Jack, YouTube, paint, painter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7928707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1maplejoe/pseuds/the1maplejoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is a painter who can create worlds with his paintbrush. Mark is sculpture that can give inanimate and stubborn materials a life and feeling. Together they find the power to change the course of this world. Well maybe not the whole world, but maybe just the world of the other person that they share it with.</p><p>Okay let me give it to you straight, I suck at summaries. So here is what you will find in this story:<br/>Artists painting, Mark sculpting, fluff and strange amounts of angst, a bowl full of poop cause it's literal crap and I am actually trash, nothing to saucy, fun colorful elements. So join me on this exploration!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fighting Colors

I close my eyes, angry at the blank canvas that sat before me.

How dare it be so perfectly clean and white, how dare it be so void of imagination. 

I open my eyes and glare menacingly at the canvas that stood on the easel, mocking me with its flawless surface and pristine blankness. It needed to change. But with what?

Green? Nope too unoriginal.

Blue? No, not yet at least.

Purple? As a starter? No thanks.

What about a red?  
Not an angry or violent red. A soft red, like his hair. I shake my head forcefully, nope no red. I needed to stop it. I opened my eyes, and anger finally over took me that I punched the canvas hard. It toppled over, hitting the ground with a loud crack and skidding over to the door. It was stopped by a flip flopped foot. 

“Easy there tiger.” A deep voice sounded.

I looked up at the face of the person who stopped the canvas from making its quick getaway out the door.  
Of course it was him, I thought sullenly. Red hair rolling down his face, black glasses crooked on his face, intense brown eyes and quirky smile that was laughing at some joke that only he knew. Screw him and his perfectness. His perfectness was so much different than the blank white canvas Mark was now picking up. He was filled with the perfect mixtures of color, not some blank emptiness that pretended to be flawless. His blue denim sculpting shirt, soft crimson hair, tan skin and dark shorts was an arrangement of  
colors that actually blended well together. 

Maybe I should fill the canvas with Mark, then at least it would actually be perfect.

“Oi piss off Merk.” I say, my Irish accent think with stress and hollow anger. 

Mark raised an eyebrow and swaggered at me while holding out my canvas. 

“Oh, so little Jackaboy has run into a bit o’ trouble eh?” Mark teased, using my nickname and a horrible fake Irish accent.  
I would have pinned him right then and there and kissed him so hard until he was left gasping for air, but I wasn’t going to let him win and plus he wouldn’t like that. I snatched my canvas and held it to my chest. 

“Yea, and now my trouble is even worse seeing as a gigantic butthole just walked in and won’t leave me alone.” I mock and Mark just chuckles.

“Well the gigantic butthole just needed to grab a few supplies for a project.” Mark sassily replied while rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. He was standing only about three feet away from me now, and all I wanted to do was wipe that stupid adorable smirk off his face, preferably with my mouth.

“Then the butthole needs to shut his trap and get his supplies.” I said brazenly. I bent down and picked up the wooden easel that had fallen over. Mark came over and observed me putting the annoyingly white canvas on the lightly colored wooden easel. 

“So what are you going to do with that?” Mark asked politely. He was now right over my shoulder. I had to restrain myself, remember he doesn’t want you like that. I repeated the fact like a chant inside my head as I picked up bottles of paint and blatantly ignored him. Dark crimson, denim blue, dark brown, black, and a nice tan color all went squirting onto my messy pallet. My art table was on my left, and the small stand was covered with specks of paint. It was about hip height and most of my supplies sat on the top of this messy and rickety painting table I had since I was little. There was a mason jar of gross green water filled to the brim with paint brushes, and a washcloth that had seen better days. It used to be a white bread cloth, but now it was gray with smudges of red, blue, and purple stained all over it. Green and yellow also made quite a contrast against the weird collection of colors.

On my right was another larger wheeled metal shelf filled with paints of every color in acrylic (my specialty and favorite substance to paint with). It was maybe chest high to me, and I usually kept it a good few feet away from me as to not trap me in a box. I was standing in the middle of the room, in the middle of two other empty easels. The blackboard had colored chalk notes on color theory written all over it, and the grey concrete walls and globs of paint and plaster all over them. Stacks of art supplies on wooden and metal shelves sat lined up behind me like a library filled to the brim with junk and glitter instead of books. Me and Mark hadn’t even bothered to turn on the electric lights imbedded in the chalky white ceiling, probably because of the fading sunlight emitting from the windows to my right. They bathed the room in a soft orange glow, making it easy to see and to  
paint.

I grabbed a paintbrush (a large one that was poofy that I secretly loved rubbing on my face when no one was looking) and dipped it in the red paint, ignoring Mark’s warmth that was behind me. I swooshed the paint on the very top of the canvas. A red mark against the white.

“Huh. Interesting. I never understood you art folk and I don’t think I ever will.” Mark muttered as he turned away and headed into the dark recesses of the art shelves. 

“Yur an art folk Mr. High ‘n Mighty” I tease.

Mark’s red hair and laughing face pop out behind a shelf, sideways like a cartoon.

“Sculpting isn’t the art kind I’m talking about.” He scoffs at me and sticks out his tongue. I promptly returned the motion. “I was talking about you painters and draw-ers, that kind of stuff is way too complicated.” He explains as he disappears and I hear his footsteps grow fainter.

I hear some clinking around, sounded like jars or something. 

“So Merk, what are ye doin here?” I call behind me, washing out the paint from my brush and grabbing another smaller brush. I use it to play with the paint, to try and create a texture of hair. I had given up on not painting him, the white canvas needed to be used and I had no other ideas.

“Oh you know, the usual.” Mark sings and I hear more clanging.

I roll my eyes, 100% done with his vague comments. So I did what I do best, ignore and paint.

I swirled the red paint in little circles, and dipped by brush lightly in the black. I made the ridges of the circles at the bottom of the red streak black, making it look like roots that needed to be touched up. I lightly touched the brush to canvas, more of a gentle roll then the angry swipe like I did with the red. I twisted the colors around, focusing on making it look soft and blend and run into one another nicely. I looked down at my pallet, and added some white to the red. Just enough to make it lighter, but not enough to make it pink. I started to add little details, little vertical strokes to the slash of red. It softened the blow, and melded nicely, giving the contrast and depth I wanted.

It could have been three minutes, or it could have been three hours. That was the thing when I started to paint, I lost track of this world. It fell away from my consciousness, and it was just me and the canvas in front of me and the colors of the entire universe. I dipped my brushes in the shades of the sunrise and drew out the deep blues and royal purples of the sunset. I pulled out the brilliant white and intense yellows of the stars from the swirling galaxy and painted them onto my canvas. I used the cosmos as my pallet, dipping and spreading out the myriad of colors that define this pocket of space, and sometimes even using the pockets beyond our grasp. Swirling the hues and shades to create something ethereal, and I had the honor to capture it forever on the canvas.

I loved to paint, it allowed me to take control of all creation. It even allowed me capture the majesty the only lasted for a fleeting moment, so that I could lock that piece of time away forever. I got to control the elements with my paintbrush, call upon worlds to spring to life at my command and force time to stop. I was a master of time, a bender of space, a creator and the power I held was absolutely intoxicating.

I swirl together a dark blue and light purple together on my pallet, not fully mixing it, just having the color mesh together so when I painted, I painted with two colors. I swirled the blue and purple colors above my red streak, making it look like a swirling galaxy. I focused so intensely on the spot, making sure each stroke was perfect, each little detail fit in perfectly in with the aesthetic.

“Wow.” A low voice hummed extremely close to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whipped around and took my brush with me, and ended up coloring Marks cheek in a blue and purple streak of paint. Mark jumped back at my sudden assault.

“Oh my god Merk, you scared me ‘alf to death!” I yelled at him, shocked by the sudden invasion of my own personal world. I then realized that I had just painted him. Mortified I grabbed my wet cloth sitting on my art table. 

“Oh sorry here let me wash that off!” Oh my god, did I just do that? I think I just did that.  
Mark held his cheek with his hands, so I tried to pry them away so I could wash the mark off. He fought me, but I ended up using blunt force to get his fingers off the wet paint. I was to intent on my mistake I didn’t see how close we were to my art table. 

I felt something wet graze my forehead as Mark swung his arm at me. I ducked instinctively but I was to late. I looked at his hand and to my horror he had grabbed my red paintbrush and had just swiped at me with it.

“Oh it’s on Merk!” I yell, then let out a bellowing battle cry. I grabbed my pallet and used my paint brush to splatter him with paint. He fought back but pushing me over to the side so he could grab the bottles of paint I had just used. 

We launch at each other, both of us giggling like mad. I would splatter him, and paint his face if he got to close. He would then in turn take his finger and swipe it across my face or just blast me by squeezing the bottle. We laughed at each other and threw insults. When I went to get more paint, he roared and tackled me to the ground and straddling me so I couldn’t move my arms or wiggle away. Needless to say I was trapped under him, and I began to blush like mad. I squirmed and tried to say something

“Oi that’s me mout-” I begin to say but Mark kept on dragging his finger full of green paint across my mouth going from cheek to cheek, making some dark green smile. He then dotted my forehead twice, making eyes. Did that goober just make a smiley on my face? By the look on his face, he did.

“There that’s better. A happy Irish man!” He giggles and I find myself laughing hard, even if the paint tasted terrible. Mark looked down at me, his dark brown eyes lighting up. He forgot that I still had my hands though…

I strain my hand and end up hitting Mark with my pallet of color in his rear. Swirling it around as to get the maximum amount on his butt, and also shock him with how cold the paints were. 

“What the-” He shouts in surprise, twisting around to see what just happened. He relaxed enough for me to tackle him over and sit triumphantly on his chest.

Now I was considerably smaller and lighter than Mark, and he could have thrown me easily if it weren’t for the fact that I was distracting him by painting his entire face blue and purple. I quickly painted swirls on his face, rivers of dark blues and splashes of light purple that made a galaxy all over his face (except for his glasses of course, I’m not THAT mean). He squirmed under me trying to get away, all the while yelling out strings of cuss words and broken threats.  
I smile triumphantly at my work and got off him.

Mark gets up and wipes his mouth, “You little-” He then tackles me again.

I wasn’t expecting it, I thought he would have given up, and looking back I think he wanted to pin me against the wall that was behind me. But to my delight he ended up tripping and falling face first onto my canvas. 

Muffled profanities are shouted in surprise as an array of struggling limbs and bright red colored hair tumble towards me. Mark stops rolling, and holds the back of his head as he rocks back and forth from the sudden confusion. I run to my painting.

Right under my red streak was a tiny galaxy face imprint. His entire face was there, plastered for me to see. Everything except the lips and his eyes that had his glasses were swirling with azure and dark lavender. I smiled at it.

Mark came up to me, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the painting. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Jack. I didn’t-” He began to apologize but I cut him off.

“It’s amazing.” I whisper, stroking the side of the canvas in awe. I look at him and smile, “That’s exactly what I needed, your big dumb face in the middle of my artwork!” I tease.

Mark smiles back nervously, but nods. “Alright I have to go wash up since SOMEBODY decided I made a better canvas then the designated one.” Mark rolled his eyes and glared at me playfully.

I stuck out my tongue and returned my attention to the painting as Mark left the room. And I definitely did not look at his multi colored butt as he left, nope not even once (okay maybe twice BUT YOU HAVE NO PROOF). I then set up the easel and admired the painting under the softer (more noticeably dim) orange sunlight. It glowed.  
When I finally got back to my dorm, I hung it up right above my bed. I stared at it fondly, loving the way it accented the room and made me feel more safe and happy. I of course had touched it up, adding stars and galaxy clusters to the face, but I left it overall the same. 

 

It was perfect.


	2. Sculpting Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is sick of Jack dancing around, and is sick of him being so GOSH DARN adorable. He decides to change things, just after he finishes his new sculpting project. But seriously though, does that really help? Even the stupid clay is working against Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KUDOS SAVE LIFES

~Two Days After Paint Fight Incident~

I turned the music up as loud as it could go. Some loud classical music resounded in the cramped space that I found myself in. I sighed in contentment as Claire De Lune by Claude Debussy started to play, it was such a pretty song. That particular song always promised great results from my hands as they worked on whatever project I was focused on. I looked around the small room to try and locate my tool belt. It was an old leather belt, worn and faded from use but it still was my most prized possession. I had worn my tool belt at every sculpture project since my father had given it to me when I was 5. He wanted me to use it to be a carpenter, who knew several years later it would be the most treasured piece of equipment I would ever own. I found it on the shelf on the right of the room. The shelf held an assortment of tools and such, they were glimmering from the lamp on the opposite side of the room and the single stage light shining down on the huge block of clay in the center of the confined room. 

On the wall above the desk were blueprints of sorts, but they were useless to me. They were mostly for decoration if I’m honest. The desk was cluttered with plaster, pencils, diagrams, and papers. A single metal lamp stood on the left hand side of the desk, illuminating the desk and room with it’s florescent yellow light. Shelves lined the room, except for the wooden oak door off behind me. It was dark and led to an even darker abandoned art living room. It was a gathering place for all the art students, and there where a dozen doors leading off to littler rooms like this one or to hallways with classrooms. It was a whole spider-web of art, and I found myself trapped here willingly.

I loved this place, I loved the smell of canvas and plaster, I loved how every square inch was cluttered with art and art tools, I loved how it was in the middle of nowhere so peace and quiet could be found here. I grabbed my tool belt and attached it to my waist. The old red buckle was fading and the belt fraying, but it still held up. I put in a couple of hooks, a metal scraper (metal triangle attached to a stick as Jack called it), and a few other necessary items. 

I circled around until I was facing my lump of clay that stood about eyes height to me (with the help of the plastic table it was resting on of course). I made sure I was with my back to the door, it would help me focus on the work in front of me and not leaving. I placed my hands on the front of the cold gray mass that sat glaring back at me. It was so stupid and stubborn, not telling me what it wanted to be. Usually I cranked up the tunes as loud as it could go, grabbed my tool belt and just started. The clay whispering to my hands what it wanted to become. What it was aching to be formed into. And I would carve it out, shape it until the clay was satisfied with its form. 

But instead Clair De Lune played peacefully around the quiet room, my tool belt sat reassuring and familiar at my waist, and the clay refused to talk. It stood there, stalwart and proud. As if being a lump of clay was all it wanted to be, ever. Angry, I threw up my hands

“Alright you listen up you little butt,” I yell at the unmoving chunk of mud. “You are going to tell me what you want to be or imma force you into whatever the heck I want!” I punch the clay. It hurts my hand, but I show no signs of weakness or pain. I waggle my finger at the stupid hunk, “If you wanna sit and pout, that’s fine but at least let me do something!” 

I grab the clay violently with my hands and begin to kneed the clay, working and shaping it into a softer more malleable shape. As my hands worked, my mind wandered. I blushed at remembering straddling Jack. The way his eyes scrunched up as he laughed with the green smiley face painted on his skin that clashed horribly with his intense green hair. The way his nose crinkled and his cheeks dimple when he smiled up at me. That entire moment, where I got to see him up close, was absolutely thrilling and terrifying. I was worried about how much I really liked that boy, but I couldn’t help it, he was too darn adorable.

I didn’t realize what my hands were doing. Suddenly I was staring at the beginnings of Jacks face. He had a round face shape, sharp (almost pointed) ears, wide nose, thick lips, eyes that were scrunched up in laugher. I stood there in shock. The clay wanted to be Jack? Maybe it was the stubborn pride of the clay that made me think of Jack. What ever would I do with that boy? He was so brazen, so honest and upfront yet when I thought he was close to making a move, he dropped the freaking ball and ran away or hid behind his art. Seriously, it was so frustrating! Like dude, just do something already.

I shook my head and folded my arms, looking and softly smiling at the beginnings of Jacks face. Already I could see the joy and honest laughter in the beginning stages of his face. Just the idea of Jack smiling and giggling was enough to make me grin. He was too infectious with his positivity and overall attitude. Then there was the sarcasm, probably one of his better qualities I thought to myself. 

I yelped in surprise, I was so deep in thought I didn’t register there was another human in the room.

“Whatcha up to Merk?” An Irish sounding voice purred right next to my ear.

I flipped around and fell back into the clay. “What the- Oh my-” I stuttered as I tried to regain my footing. “Jack!” I shouted at him over the sound of the music.

“Jeez Merk.” Jack turned down the music and twisted a finger in his ear wincing. “No need to shout. I am right here, if ‘t wasn’t fer this loud music.” Jack pointed at the radio. 

I grasped my heart, assuring myself I still had a heartbeat. “Dude don’t do that to me.” I gasped at him, trying to figure out how to breathe again. 

I looked at Jack, as he stood there looking around the art room. His green hair had blue paint on it, and there was a smear of red under his left eye and green on his lower right cheek. As if some drunk monkey had tried to do the sport war paint under his eyes. He wore his signature short sleeve blue tee shirt covered with paint stains all over. Seriously the boy looked like he got into an intense fight with a couple of paintbrushes. 

His faded holey skinny jeans clung to his skin, framing his skinny figure. I noted how pale he looked in the dim light, and how his clothes seemed to cling more than actually fit. What was up with this green haired Irish bean?

“So what are ye doin?” Jack asked, looking at me with large inquisitive eyes. He quirked a smile at me, his eyes bearing into mine.

I get a little nervous and begin to feel myself blush. I bring my hand to my neck, rubbing it trying not to get all hot and flustered at the adorable face staring at me. 

“I was sculpting you dork. Isn’t it obvious?” I tease and gesture to the lump of clay that I was working on. The shape of Jack’s head was still showing. “I mean, come on man it doesn’t take a Sherlock to guess.” I mock flirtatiously, winking for good measure.  
Jack sticks out his tongue and points to his eye, “Well I spy with me own little eye,” He jokes, I laugh at him and his little pose. Tongue pointed out, eyebrows wiggling, eyes gleaming with mischief. It all was so funny, it seemed to infuse my frayed and stressed nerves with humour and joy. So I laughed out loud with him, as he giggled and spit out more delightful jokes and puns. Always using his facial expressions, and sometimes even lowering or changing his voice just for effect.

Soon I was in tears and Jack was leaning on my shoulder laughing hard as well. I looked down and got a face full of green hair. He smelt nice, like citrus shampoo and the old woods behind my house where I used to play with my brother all the time. Soon he was calming down, and backed away suddenly.

I rolled my eyes, “Really dude?” I told him. He obviously realized how close he was to me, and got scared. What a freaking pansy.

Jack stuck his chin out, “What?” A note of defiance and stubbornness rang out from just that one little syllable. I honestly just wanted to deck him at this point.

“Come on admit it already.” I say point blank. I was done dancing around like it was some duel with swords.

“Admit what exactly?” Jack asked chirpily. He bounced around as he started to poke around on the shelves. He would pick up a tool, examine it, point it at me and make a fencing move, and put it back down. He would sometimes even pretend it was a lightsaber, with sound effects. I leaned against the desk, watching him move about the room, amused at his constant stream of energy.

“That you have a thing for me.” I say, drawing out the ‘me’ just to tease him and wiggling my eyebrows.

It worked. Jack turned the best shade of red I have ever seen. The color was worthy of his amazing paintings in my humble opinion (not humble but still. Much red.). He didn’t look at my face at all, he instead looked down at the hook tool in his hand that he just picked up. 

“Yar I be a pirate of th’ high seas.” Jack growled, wrapping his hand around the tool and waving it in front of his face like a hook.

“Oh yar har har.” I laugh sarcastically. Jack beams up at me, then continues to prowl around with his hook hand. I knew what he was doing, but I let him do it anyway. At least for now. I continued to watch him.

“Alright enough games Jackaboy, what did you come in here for.” I demand, re-crossing my arms and looking him in the eye.

Jack got solemn real quick, dropping his eyes and stopping all form of movement. He came quietly and sat on the desk next to me. It was a real change in attitude, so I was a bit off put.

“Well I just wanted to talk.” He muttered in shame.

“To talk?” I asked, raising my eyebrow and adding a note of disbelieve in the sentence.

“Well yeah.” He mumbled. “Didn’t really want ta go home, ‘nd it got lonely ‘ere. Heard yur music so ey thought you would enjoy some company.” Jack twiddled his thumbs and didn’t look at me. His green fuffy hair hung down in his face, his eyes downcast. “I don’t know, shut up ‘nd leave me alone.” He whined  
I started to giggle, then laugh, then double over with laughter. Jack looked at me with wide eyes filled with shock, and he began to laugh nervously with me.

“Oh Jack, honestly.” I took a deep breath. “I thought you were going to tell you killed a man and you needed help hiding the body.” I ran a hand through my hair in mock exasperation. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with you, but if you wanna stay that’s cool to!” I tease and gesture to the chair under the desk. It was wooden, old, rickety and like everything else in this building: covered in paint. Jack hopped up eagerly on the stool and swung his legs back and forth.

“I’m going to put on some background music.” I tell Jack as I turn back on Clair De Lune. Jack smiled at the song, and began to watch me.

I was used to people watch me sculpt, but having Jack was a whole new ballgame. Actually, a whole new planet with a whole new sport. I didn’t know what to do with his blue eyes staring at me. I rolled my shoulders and looked at the beginnings of a head I had begun to shape. By the size of the head, it looks like this would be a bust of someone. I looked at Jack at the corner of my eye, cross that out. It was going to be a bust of Jack right before he laughed. It was going to be the moment when I fell in love with this strange and colorful boy.

I took my hands and began to mold the clay. That was the thing about sculpting, there was no color. You define the textures and colors, the high lights and lowlights with a physical object. Not some paint strokes or dabs of color on a canvas. You have to use your own hands to physically tell a story, not just show a moment or picture. That’s why I was a sculpture, the ability to pull from my memory and create a tangible object that was precise to my mind was intoxicating. This capability, this power, was something that I craved all the time.

With a knead, maybe a press of a finger, or a gentle curve of a tool, I chipped away at an indescribable hunk of clay into something of beauty. I gave it a purpose, a life, a reason. I got to reveal the truest, purest form of the clay. I had the opportunity to recreate flaws and mistakes, and make them perfect in the eyes who saw it. Instead of scars, I created war wounds that gave the viewer the knowledge that this person was strong. Instead of moles or dimples, I create a more human statue that the viewer can relate to. Even the cracks in the clay or mistakes and cuts my hands make are considered perfect. 

I press my finger firmly into the beginning shape of the eye socket of my bust. Jack watches intently, curious and enthralled at the same time judging by his expression. Eyes staring at the bust, leaning forward on his hands that were in between his legs and holding onto the seat of the chair. He looked like a little kid in a toy store. 

I chuckled at him, and continued to sculpt out the features using Jack as a model. 

After a while, I looked at the clock on the right to the blueprints. It read 1:47 a.m. Since when was it morning?

I look and Jack, and had to hold back the urge to hold my cheeks and say “Awwww!”. Jack had sat down at my desk and his head was resting on his folded up arms. His eyes were closed and mouth drooping, apparently fast asleep. I could see the red streak under his left eye and a smear of bright pink under his chin that I hadn’t noticed before. I could now hear the soft snoring emitting from the tiny little green bean.

I look at him and smile tenderly. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but looking down and seeing my filthy white plastered hands I instead hurry to the washroom. When I got to the dark bathroom I began to wash off the bits of plaster stuck to my forearms and hands. As the flakes fell off, I realized how early/late it was. I sighed, looks like neither of us were going to the dorms tonight, good thing the art campus had comfy sofas. 

I splash my face with water and wipe it off with a scratchy brown paper towel. I walked back to my art room and start unbuttoning my denim ‘sculpting’ shirt. I got in and Jack was still asleep, breathing heavily with sleep. I grab my black shirt I wore that day, the one with MUSE written across the chest in white. I look at Jack, and knew I couldn’t wake him up. He looked so exhausted, even though he was asleep. I knew he wasn’t sleeping well, and by the looks of his gaunt face I knew he wasn’t eating well.

I sighed, and knew what I had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KUDOS SAVE LIVES


	3. Wishing on Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's late and the stars are beautiful.

Jack was pitifully tiny. I almost threw him when I went to pick him up bridal style, I was expecting more resistance and weight. He seemed healthy on the outside, but I guess I was very wrong.  I shook my head, now I had to feed this Irish bean because nobody goes hungry in my house. Well, the Art School isn’t my house but it might as well be. It was mine and Jack’s sanctuary, maybe one day it would be **_our_** sanctuary. Us. Together. Blood rushed to my ears at the thought. I couldn’t imagine being this close to Jack all the time, my heart would explode from joy.

I looked down at Jack’s peaceful face. His arms were crossed on his chest and head resting on my shoulder.  He squirmed a little in my arms and muttered something along the lines of “Potato’s beat meatballs.” Whatever that means. I re-adjusted him in my arms and opened the door from my art studio. It was late, after midnight I think. I couldn’t remember the last time I looked at my phone for the time.

It was time to leave the Art School and walk the short distance to the short gray brick buildings near here. I had a dorm to myself, so might as well let Jack sleep over as I had no idea where he called home.

Maybe one day he’ll have a place called home with me.

The thought came suddenly and intrusively. I stopped before the double doors that lead to the outside and saw my faint reflection in the glass. I saw my glasses, my red hair, my thick eyebrows and strong jaw. I saw Jack’s pale perfect face glowing against the dark color of my shirt. We looked like we had never been apart.

I turned around and opened the door with my back. Ignoring all the previous comments my brain oh so fantastically decided to think. As I got to the outside I noticed there were no lamps for some reason. Usually they were on at this time of night but everything was dark. I felt the warm summer air drift lazily around me. There was a light chill to the air, but I wasn’t cold. The moon wasn’t up, but man were the stars beautiful. I looked up and stopped. There were hundreds, no thousands of stars in the sky tonight. There must be a blackout or something because it was beautiful. I could actually see the Milky Way.

Space was so cool.

“Wow.” A soft voice said. I looked down and Jack was staring up at the trillions of sparkling stars. I could see the reflection of them in his eyes.

“Wow.” I agreed and looked up at the stars again.

A sudden realization hit me like a truck.  I liked having him in my arms.  I liked feeling the blood pulsing under his skin and his lungs breathing in and out. It was the very essence of being alive, the heartbeat, the breathing, the warmth, all of it was alive. And Jack was alive in my arms, all safe and protected. He was here in this moment with me, looking up at the stars and feeling so small.

“You can put me down now.” Jack said sleepily, using his arm closest to me to push himself up.

I held on tighter, “Do I have to?” I whined. We looked at each other and had a non-verbal fight. Jack made a face of confusion. I instead held him closer and his arm lost its place and was thrust back onto his chest.

“Fine.” He muttered, defeated he snuggled deeper into my embrace. I gave him a huge cheeky ass grin.

“Oh shove off ye bastard.” He crookedly smiled at me, I could tell he was enjoying this as much as I was.

“You shove off it. Just let me carry you like the damsel in distress you are.” I laughed as I continued to walk towards the gray blob in the distance that I knew was the dorms.

“Whatever wierdo.” He growled. “Anyways where in ‘ell are you takin me?” His Irish accent was muffled a little as he snuggled his face deeper into my chest.

I felt a smile grow on my face as I looked at him. It was just a reflex, Jack just made me smile.

“I’m going out to dump your body in the desert so that I can be the alpha of the Art Department.” I said nonchalantly.

Jack chuckled, “Tough luck. We both know Felix is next in line to take my place as an alpha.”

“But Jaaaaack” I whined. “I wanna be the alpha. Then I can finally get the royalty treatment I deserve.”

“You deserve an arse whoopin.” Jack poked. “Tryin to take my spot and kill me? Yer the worst.” Jack smiled up at me from the crook of my chest. I could only see half of his face, but his eyes were smiling at me and the crook of his mouth turned up.

We arrived at the dorm and I looked up at the stars to say goodnight.

“Merk.” A voice whispered.

I looked down at Jack. He hid his face in my shirt and muttered at me.

“mhmhmhmhm” I mocked. “You know, gibberish was my first language but I must be rusty as I didn’t understand a word you said.”

“Can we stargaze for a moment?” Jack asked quietly. I only barely heard the words.

My heart skipped a beat and lighting traced itself through every nerve in my body. Adrenaline rushed into my system as I realized that’s all I ever wanted to do. I have never been more excited than in this moment.

“I’d be honored.” I said and turned around to find a nice patch of grass.

“I can walk now.” Jack insisted.

“Not until I find a perfect place for her ladyship.” I declared as I trudged through the grass. It wasn’t wet, just super green and thick.

“Yer a ladyship.” Jack tried to retaliate, but I could tell he was at a loss for words.

I found a small hill in the middle of the grass, just about 10 feet or so from the pathway that connects the Art School to the dorms. There were no trees in this area, just perfect to lay down and view the stars.

I turn around and sat down.

“What tha- oy!” Jack exclaimed as I plopped his cute ass in my lap and sat criss-cross apple sauce.

“It’s cold out here and you’re warm.” I lied. Jack turned to me with a single eyebrow raised.

He opened his mouth to dispute the obvious fact that it was warm enough, but shut it.

“Not a word.” He snarled as he buried himself into my lap.

I lay back and the smaller boy rolled off and to the side of me. He curled up around my torso, putting his hand where my heart lay beating for him. I wrapped my arm around his head and cuddled him closer to me.

The stars danced for us, they may be billions of light years away but boy do they know how to put on a show. They twinkled and twirled around each other, they were so huge and us so tiny. I saw what looked like veins in the sky, but I knew they were instead giant dust and gas clouds swirling together in a constant dance of gravity. I created tiny constellations in my head, putting them together then taking them apart. I was so, dazzled. lost for words by his light.

The stars were so infinite, shimmering so far away. In fact some of the stars I was looking at had died long ago and now it's just the light that it sent millions of years ago that hold onto its legacy. I felt a pang of sadness, I wished i'd still have light to continue my legacy even after I'm gone. Something that could be seen by Jack just in case I was gone. I looked down at the green bean and smiled. I couldn't help it, I just had to smile. He was looking up at the stars with such wonder and awe. You could almost see the, "wow" he was feeling. 

The night sky reminded me of Jack's canvas. The way that man could paint, the realistic-ness and authenticity he gave into every single one of his paintings reminded me of the night sky. Each star was placed there perfectly, the chaos was actually order. And when those individual tiny dots come together. Beautiful. Jack was as deep and beautfiul as this night sky, and I was enraptured by his infinite color.

I saw a shooting star out of the corner of my eye, and I instantly made a wish. But wishes are fickle things, you tell a soul and the wish is ruined. I looked down and Jack and repeated my wish.

We lay in silence for a while until we both unknowingly fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	4. The Colors Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 Years Later

 

“No you fuck off.” Jack yelled at me. His face inches from mine.

I laughed as I held his palette above his head. We may now be older, but I held the height and the muscles of the relationship.

“Give it to me ya goof.” He laughed as I dangled it just out of reach.

“What are ya gonna do about it?” I chuckled giving him an eyebrow wiggle for good measure.

Jack’s eyes light up and he stood on his tip toes and kissed me. It was good solid I love you kiss, one of the ones you plant on your loved one when they are being a dork.

I stopped what I was doing and wrapped my arms around him, deepening the kiss. Giving him the right vantage to rip the palette away from my hands. He broke away abruptly living me kissing air for a solid moment.

“Ah ha!” He said triumphantly. Holding the wooden circle over his head like he had won the lottery. “I win you big butt! Take that you giant tall son of a -”

I cut him off with another kiss and Jack stops. We kiss for another moment or two before he puts a hand on my chest.

“Ye are too cute Merk.” He shakes his head with a smirk.

I laugh and sit back down on the chair I had placed next to Jack’s canvas. He was working overnight tonight so I decided to keep him company.

Things had changed drastically for us. No longer were we hiding out in an Art School closet, Jack and I had our own studio. We even had our own gallery filled with paintings and sculptures that Jack and I had worked so hard on. Five years ago, we got caught sleeping on the campus ground after a blackout and now I can finally and happily call him my husband, confident, and long-time Art Partner.

“Oi Merk you okay?” Jack asked. He cocked his head to the side. He no longer had green hair, just the soft brown that I loved to pull on and play with.

I hadn’t realized I spaced off. I ran my hand through my now black hair. College felt like a different planet from where I was now. “Ya I’m fine darlin.” I smiled at him, Jack grinned at me.

Jack began to fill up his palette with different colors of paint.

I looked at him and felt the happiness that filled my chest. I remember that night all those years ago, the one where I wished upon a star. And as I looked into my Jack’s eyes, I knew deep deep down that my wish had come true.


End file.
